


Inksolation 4

by notjustmom



Series: Inksolation [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:09:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 6,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25014481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: Another month of Johnlock, with possibly some Mystrade depending on the day, prompts by the lovely bluebellofbakerstreet, writer in nearly full-time isolation, with kids, except for shopping and a spot of gardening, the boys not necessarily so.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Inksolation [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1810603
Comments: 413
Kudos: 82





	1. Perpetual

On the best of days, he was a blur of perpetual motion. It was only on those rare occasions when John could convince him to sit, eat a bite, or rest before he crashed, did John see the very human parts of him. The parts of the machinery that could become so easily damaged if mistreated, or misunderstood.

On those days, curtains were drawn, and few words were spoken, as John would pull the sheet over them both, and settle around him again, reminding him that was no longer on his own.

“John.”

“Yeah.”

“You will stay.”

“Yeah, course,” he would always answer in return, as he watched over him as he drifted off back to sleep.


	2. Devilish

There was a devilish glint in his eye as he stalked toward the crime scene, and John shuddered internally. He knew as much as Sherlock needed the puzzles, he loathed the world that gave him the work. Each case broke him just a bit in ways he would never share with anyone, not even him, save for those nights when the nightmares visited, and he alone could comfort him.

“John!” The sharp voice shook him from his thoughts, and he slowly got to his knees, across from Sherlock, and he knew it was going to be another long night. As he listened to Sherlock detail the life that had been lived, he thought of a time in the not too distant future when their nights might be spent in more pleasant surroundings. “Do you see?”

He nodded, then gave a time and probable cause of death, and as he lifted his eyes to meet Sherlock’s, he knew Sherlock saw everything, and understood as he always did. _Soon,_ his eyes said, _just a little more time, and I won’t need it anymore. I promise._


	3. Colorful

There was a crash, followed by a stream of colorful language, most of which John was sure he’d never heard Sherlock utter even once in the months since their meeting. He slipped his feet into his shoes, which he had learned to keep by his bedside, for reasons, then wrapped his robe around himself and tiptoed quietly into the kitchen, then stopped short.

“What -”

“Don’t ask.”

“Of course I’m going to ask, what are you doing in the kitchen at three in the morning trying to -” he sniffed the air and couldn’t hold back a grin. “Baking? Another experiment, or trying to determine how a poisoner killed his victim without poisoning himself?” he offered Sherlock a hand, helped him the floor, and tried to dust him off.

“If you must know. I was _trying_ \- I know it’s not really an anniversary, but it’s been nearly half a year since you, since we - your arrival, and I wanted to do something nice for you - uhm breakfast in bed - and it seems there are reasons people follow recipes.”

John wiped a bit of flour from his cheek, ruffled his dusted curls, then sighed as he felt Sherlock relax against him. “Tell you what, come back to bed, and when Speedy’s opens, you can buy me one of those ridiculous sandwiches, and too much coffee? And then I’ll help you clean up this disaster? Come on, hmm?”

Sherlock nodded and taking the offered hand, followed him back to bed, where they slept until noon.

(yes, I know baking and sleeping for more than an hour...)


	4. Festive

They didn’t really do festive, not since that one disastrous attempt at a birthday party a few years back. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, they just agreed not to do that kind of thing again. 

But every once in a while, there would be a new jar of jam and a carton of milk in the fridge, or Sherlock would find a new old book sitting in his chair with a note in it that made him blush just slightly. The book would end up on the bookshelf in a place he was sure John would see it, and the note would end up in his wallet, even as he didn’t need to read it again, as he had it memorized the first time he ran his eyes over the uneven scrawl.

And on the nights when John found Sherlock to be more than ‘remarkable’ for whatever reason, they found their own way to celebrate, behind closed doors.


	5. Noisy

“What a day,” John growled as he hung up his coat, then dropped onto the couch. He untied his shoes, breaking a lace in the process, and was about to let loose about the arses on the tube, the quality of the air, and the downright stupidity of the masses when Sherlock stole the complaint with a kiss, then pressed a mug of tea into his hands.

After he recovered enough to take a sip of tea, and released the breath he had been holding most of the afternoon, he glanced over at Sherlock, who had tucked himself into the corner of the couch, and was studying him in silent contemplation.

“Noisy day, was it?” Sherlock asked quietly after a time.

“Yeah. People are ridiculous.”

“They are rarely anything else.”

John blinked at him, then put down his mug on the table and laughed until tears streamed down his cheeks. “Ain’t it the truth,” he muttered, then stretched out and rested his head in Sherlock’s lap, sighing as long fingers rested in his hair, and soon was fast asleep.


	6. Elegant

“What?” Sherlock mumbled at him, without opening his eyes.

He had known him long enough now that he no longer asked how he knew every little thing - it was probably a change in his breathing or how he shifted on the couch. “It’s nothing.”

“John.” He finally opened his eyes and studied him in that way that he had, as if he were a solution to some long unsolved puzzle, and then the sharp gaze softened, as he brought an elegant finger to his lips, smiled, then closed his eyes again.

He wondered what it was he had seen in his face, whatever it was had been satisfactory - “Ah. Yes. Of course, how very simple. Thank you, John. You are, as always - even without knowing it, my light -” He sat up abruptly, then held John’s face in his hands and kissed his forehead, then muttered, “Come, John, grab your coat, and don’t forget the Browning, just in case, hmm?” 

John watched him spring to his feet, swirl into his coat, and all he could do was follow, as he always would.


	7. Loyal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer bit today...

He could look at a photograph of a crime scene and see what Scotland Yard’s finest missed in less than two minutes. A scent could direct him to a single alleyway in London, solving a case that had remained unsolved for over a year, but in the months that John had lived with him, he could not quite work out why he had remained. 

Yes, part of it was that he really had few alternatives, but most people found him to be arrogant, and certainly self-centered, and he had never quite learned the niceties that allowed most people to function within certain parameters of what was considered ‘polite society.’ He snorted derisively, then looked down at John who was carefully wrapping his ankle. The night would have ended much differently had John not been there to rescue him, once again, as he had made a rare misstep, and nearly not made it home.

“John.”

“Almost done. Now, you should stay off of it -” he glanced up and could tell from the exasperated huff and confused look in Sherlock’s eyes, that he needed an answer to a question that he was afraid to ask. “Why?”

“Hmm.” Sherlock nodded and gently pressed his bandaged fingers together, as he watched John prop up his well wrapped ankle on a pillow, then dropped into the chair opposite, with a sigh.

“Honestly?”

“Please.”

John blinked at him and wondered if he’d been concussed in their latest misadventure, but shrugged it off and answered quietly after a thoughtful pause, “You chose me. Didn’t have to, and maybe it was just because I showed up that morning, but you saw something in me, that not many people - most people had given up on me, including me. Your brother -”

“My brother?”

“He commented that I was already loyal to you - at our ‘interview’ - and questioned my motives. Tonight, it became clear to me how less my life would be without you in it.” He sighed as Sherlock’s eyes narrowed at him and he opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Yeah, sentiment, or some such nonsense - I remain here, Sherlock, because I’m an idiot, and I love you.”

“John?”

“Uhm-hmm?”

“Can you come a little closer?”

John moved to settle on the ottoman, careful not to jostle Sherlock’s ankle, then closed his eyes as trembling fingers touched his face uncertainly. “Guess that makes me an idiot, too, then,” Sherlock mumbled before pulling John closer and into a kiss that answered any remaining questions.


	8. Superior

_The face._ John sighed and rolled his eyes, then tried to objectively study the expression on Sherlock’s face at that moment. Slightly superior, the knowing glint, and just the suggestion of humor, that vanished as he expounded his theory, correct as he always was, down to the very last detail.

After, as they were walking in silence, fingertips almost brushing, he stopped short and John followed his gaze upward. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

John resettled his gaze on the sharp profile, and answered, “yeah, beautiful,” and smiled as even in the shadows, he could see the pale face flush pink.

“John,” Sherlock breathed out, then watched without further comment as John brought the long fingers to his lips briefly, his eyes never leaving Sherlock’s face. He needed to know how his eyes would change, if they would change when he finally understood. It fairly took his breath away as Sherlock’s eyes flashed at him, as if a million questions were asked at once, then answered with a single word. “John.”

“Yes.”

“But -”

“There isn’t always a reason for everything.”

Sherlock stared at him for what seemed like days before he nodded, and taking John’s hand in his, began the long walk back to Baker Street.


	9. Modest

“Mornin’, beautiful.”

Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at him.

“What?”

“I’m not.”

“Uhm, yeah. You are one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen in my life. For someone who doesn’t seem to have a modest bone in his body -”

Sherlock shook his head and sat up against the headboard. “When I was a child, I was too tall, too thin - the curls - didn’t help of course that I was smarter than everyone in the room by the time I was five, okay, maybe six.” John snorted in response. “Well, it was true, I couldn’t stand it when people got things wrong, and I wasn’t polite about it, so they found other ways to pick me apart. I just learned not to care about appearances, my appearance -”

John sat up and studied the long profile, and could hear the mocking voices of Sherlock’s classmates in his head, and felt his fingers curl into a fist.

“John, it doesn’t matter in the least. What I look like - it’s just -”

“Transport, I know. Well, as you know most people are idiots, and I’m sorry people were unkind to you. I hope if I had known you then -”

“You wouldn’t have liked me then, John.”

John searched the flashing eyes for a moment, and saw the younger version of his friend and partner, looking back at him. He reached out and brushed an errant curl behind an ear, and whispered, “I think we would have been the best of mates.”

Sherlock bit his lip and John was surprised to see a single tear slide down his cheek. “John.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Yeah, love you too, beautiful.”


	10. Romantic

He claimed, many times, over the years that he wasn’t a romantic. But the first morning after, well, technically it had all happened that morning, so it was more the afternoon after - John opened his eyes to find Sherlock sitting in the chair next to the bed, his head resting on one hand, and the eyes he knew so well were studying him as if he could never get enough of him.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“Anything the matter?”

“No, not really,” he answered quietly as he began to uncurl from the chair. “I just regret all the time wasted. Just last night - when I saw you smile - I finally understood, why people write love poems. Not that I could ever write one that would express -” his words trailed off, as John stretched out his arm and offered him his hand.

“Come back to bed, then, we have a lot of time to make up for, don’t we?”


	11. Safe

John rolled over and opened his eyes to find Sherlock sitting on the edge of the bed, shivering. He reached out cautiously and placed his hand on his back, then waited for him to catch his breath.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to -”

“Come ‘ere.”

“John.”

“Sherlock, you’re safe now. You aren’t on your own anymore, I’m here.”

He turned to look at him, seeing the gentle love in his eyes, and it nearly took his breath away again. He nodded, slipped back into bed and sighed as John brushed his curls from his face. He pressed a trembling hand over John’s and held on as he studied his face, wondering, not for the first time, what he had done in his life to deserve the man next to him.

“You survived, Sherlock. Somehow, we both did, not a question of deserve, I don’t think, just sometimes, the universe gets it right every once in a while. Now close your eyes. I’ll be here when you wake up.”


	12. Meager

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Return...

He picked at the meager meal, if only to get John to stop fussing at him. “I’m fine,” he muttered again, as he felt the dark blue eyes studying him. He glanced across the table, then sighed. “I am -”

“Sherlock.” He put the paper aside then reached out to take his friend’s trembling hand. “You’re not fine, there is no definition of fine -” He blinked as he felt the trembling ease, then whispered, “Sherlock.”

“Sorry, I never wanted - to hurt you was the last thing I ever intended to do, I couldn’t see any other way, and I didn’t think I mattered -”

John squeezed his fingers lightly, and tried to keep the hot tears he felt welling up in his eyes from falling. “Of course, you matter, I just wish - you shouldn’t have had to do it all on your own, you could have -”

“I couldn’t.” Sherlock shook his head. “I failed, it was my arrogance - I thought - doesn’t matter what I thought.” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration as he mumbled. “I’m just so tired, John.”

John pushed away from the table and walked over to where Sherlock had slumped in his chair. “Come on, bed.”

Sherlock took the offered hand and allowed John to help him to his feet. “You’ll -”

“I’ll stay, of course I’ll stay.”


	13. Clean

The kitchen was suspiciously clean, for once.

John placed the take away bag on the table and sniffed the air for anything that shouldn’t be there, and found nothing but the scent of Mrs Hudson’s cleaning supplies, which was odd, but not unheard of. 

Then he sighed and leaned back as he sensed Sherlock’s peculiar scent behind him. “What’s the special occasion?”

“Does there have to be?”

“Usually.”

“All right.” Sherlock turned him in his arms and gazed into his eyes. “It happens to be the six-month anniversary of the first time I kissed you.”

“Hold on a minute, I do believe I kissed you first?”

“Details, details,” Sherlock muttered as he leaned closer and kissed him until they both drew back, in need of a breath.

“What were we arguing about again?” John asked after he caught his breath again.

“Does it matter?”

“No, not really. Dinner?”

“Yeah, I could eat...”


	14. Joyful

He couldn’t remember the last time he was actually, truly joyful.

No. He could, actually. The first time he made John smile, the first time John made him laugh. He didn’t think he was capable of it until the sound burbled up from somewhere in the depths and forced its way out. It was harsh, out of tune, but John saw it for what it was, reached out a steady hand and pulled him into a kiss. It too was unpracticed, rough, as neither of them had - well, he certainly hadn’t, maybe John had - and then - John stopped, and pulled back, uncertainty in his eyes, as if he had overstepped. And what had he done? Held John’s face in his hands, searched his darkly blown eyes, darker than any midnight sky, and leaned forward until their foreheads met, and he felt John relax completely for the first time since he had known him, nearly crumbling to his knees.

Was it that kind of joy he felt at the moment, as he opened his eyes to find John smiling at him? Possibly. But all he knew for certain at the moment was that he needed to kiss that smile from his lips.

So he did.


	15. Tearful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What we should have had somewhere in the last two seasons...

“Hey, there.” John said hoarsely, as Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open.

He tried to reach out and wipe away the tears that were falling easily down John’s pale and exhausted face, but everything seemed to hurt, and he tried to remember why. 

John rolled his eyes and brushed the curls from Sherlock’s face, as he tried to keep his voice level. “You. Being an idiot.”

“What else is new?” Sherlock whispered, and tried to smile at him.

“Don’t try to make me laugh.” John rubbed his face with both hands, and Sherlock realised how close it had been.

“Sorry?”

“Apologising now. Next you’ll probably tell me something like -”

“Love you.”

John blinked at him for a moment, then leaned in closer to press a kiss to his forehead and tried to catch his breath before answering softly, “Yeah, love you, too.”

“Can you -”

John nodded, slipped out of his shoes, and after carefully settling next to him, breathed a kiss into his hair then closed his eyes as he felt Sherlock’s trembling hand rest over his. “Promise me -”

“I promise,” Sherlock mumbled even as he knew John was already asleep.


	16. Eager

Mrs Hudson was dusting the flat again when he returned from Barts. She paused, waiting for him to complain as he always did, when she ran her duster over the mantelpiece, but today, he seemed different, eager about something.

“Mrs Hudson.”

“Sherlock?”

“Tomorrow - today, I mean - not sure -” She checked his eyes, they were clear and a bit brighter than normal, and she gently directed him to sit down before he fell down.

“Take your time, dear. I’ll make you a cuppa.”

He nodded, drew in a breath and blew it out slowly, then drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “I found him.”

“Him?”

“ _Him_ , him, the one, at least I think so, but, hmm, do you think, I mean - I invited him to look at the flat tomorrow evening, a bit rash, but it was all I could think to do.”

“Coffee. Some people start by asking people out for coffee, or dinner?”

“I’m not -”

“I know, you aren’t some people, dear,” Mrs Hudson smiled at him as she placed a few biscuits on a plate, then rolled her eyes at the mess. “You might clean it up a bit - you know?” She sighed when he deflated a bit, then walked over to him and ruffled his hair. “I’m sure he will love it, and you.”

“Mrs Hudson, you are -”

“Yes, dear, I know I am an incurable romantic, but so are you, whether you choose to admit it or not.”


	17. Dreadful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of angst, with a load of fluff, them being idiots, as always.

He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he’d only felt once before, as he stepped over the threshold and into the darkness of the flat. Not from the silence after a brutal skirmish in Afghanistan, but the stillness that met him after he climbed the seventeen steps on that wet, windy, miserable afternoon some five years earlier. He didn’t call out, but somehow managed to shrug out of his jacket and hang it neatly on its hook, next to Sherlock’s coat, still damp to the touch. He closed his eyes and nearly went to his knees in relief as he heard a sneeze from the bedroom.

“Sherlock?” He rolled his eyes as he heard the tremor in his voice, then switched on a light before taking his time removing his shoes. Another sneeze. He’d already had a cold, probably from those hours in the rain two nights earlier, but he denied it, and had stormed off to Scotland Yard that morning in a huff, feeling, ‘perfectly fine.’ Probably had turned off his phone in a snit, and had just forgotten to turn it back on again.

“John?”

John walked into the bedroom and pulled the chair closer to the bed, sinking into it as he took the hand that reached up for him. 

Sherlock groaned and muttered feebly, “I feel -”

“Dreadful?”

Sherlock used his other hand to pull the layers of quilts from his face, and saw, as he always did, everything that had gone through John’s mind all day. “Sorry. Lestrade drove me home, put me to bed, and threw some blankets on me, and I fell asleep. John. I am truly -”

“Shh. It’s fine.”

“John.”

“It’s just, there are still days when I just need to know you’re still - that you’re here. And when you didn’t answer my texts, and the flat was dark when I got home...” he looked at Sherlock’s hand in his, and gave it a light squeeze before glancing up and meeting the expression in the eyes that he had loved so well, and for so long. 

“We’ve never really talked about it.”

“No,” John agreed, then pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s knuckles, and shook his head. “We haven’t and I don’t want to now. I just don’t want - I don’t want you to think - I know I don’t - I’m not good at this, but I love you, and I just want to be sure you understand -” he swore to himself as he felt a tear slip off the end of his nose. “Ridiculous.”

Sherlock didn’t say a word, but made room for him on the bed, and patted the empty space, without letting go of his hand. John wiped his eyes and slid into bed, then sighed at how Sherlock shivered when he pulled him into his arms. “Yer an idiot.”

“I’m sorry. Not for being an idiot, but for - everything.” Sherlock whispered into his chest, before finally letting go of his hand and drifting off to sleep again.


	18. Lucky

“Stop. Don’t move.”

John blinked at Sherlock, then cleared his throat. “I was just going to get a cuppa,” he was going to say, but the words dried up as he watched Sherlock drop to one knee in front of him.

“This wasn’t how - I had planned it carefully to the very last detail, but I couldn’t wait, in case something happened and I didn’t have time -”

“I was just going to get a cuppa -” John began, then saw the serious look in Sherlock’s eyes, and closed his mouth.

“You know before, before I met you, I considered myself married to my work. I thought I was enough - hell. This isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Okay, I’m going to just start again. It’s not really starting again though, is it, I can’t rewind and -”

John smiled gently at him, then drew in a breath sharply as Sherlock took a box from his jacket pocket, and opened it. “If I had any kind of luck before the day I met you, it would have been of the negative variety, but, since the moment you walked into the lab - I’d have to say my luck has changed for the better, but I know how things can happen, and before another moment passes, I need to know if you will marry me.”

John nodded and somehow managed to whisper, “Yes.” He watched as relief swept over Sherlock’s face, and he wasn’t sure who was trembling more as he slid the ring onto his finger. “But you do know, Sherlock, I am the lucky one,” he said quietly before he leaned down to kiss him, and the tea and everything else he might have been thinking about was soon forgotten.


	19. Tolerable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of Benedict Cumberbatch's 44th birthday!

In years past, he would ignore the fact that he even had a birthday. Birthdays were just a way of marking time, and usually he had spent them alone.

However.

This morning, he opened his eyes to find John smiling at him.

“Happy Birthday. Anything special you want to do today?”

“Can we just turn off the phone, and stay in bed, maybe get cake - much later?”

“Sounds like a plan,” John whispered as he leaned in closer to kiss him.

Sherlock decided at that moment that birthdays, at least this one, were tolerable.


	20. Dirty

“Where have you -” John started then stopped as he turned to see Sherlock, or a figure that slightly resembled him, except he had never before seen him so disheveled and dirty. He had traded his posh suits and Italian shoes for an old oversize windbreaker over layers of jumpers and oddly patterned shirts, thin bare cords, and trainers that were barely staying on his feet, held together by silver duct tape. He shook his head at him, then watched him peel off the fake beard and broken specs. “Case, then.”

Sherlock shook his head, then slowly stripped off the remains of the trainers and the disreputable pieces of clothing, and tossed them into a plastic bag, then studied the floor as he answered, “No. Do you ever have days when you just want to disappear, not be yourself for a little while?”

“Sure, yeah.”

“No,” Sherlock looked up and studied John’s face for a long moment. “I mean, really disappear, and forget, forget every bad thing - shit. John. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean -”

“I know what you meant, and yeah, yeah, I have. When you were - _‘gone’_ , I spent the first few weeks walking all night, just in case, in case, in case they had got it wrong. Didn’t sleep, much. I did, basically disappear, until - I read an article about a case, a case you would have jumped at, and I finally got really angry at you, really fucking angry at you, threw some things - glass things that shattered rather spectacularly, and then, then I forgave you.”

“ _Why_?” Sherlock asked, quietly as he wrapped his arms around himself.

John rolled his eyes and left the room returning with Sherlock’s second best robe, and handed it to him. “Put this on. No sense in you getting a cold.”

“Why?”

“Put it on.”

“Why, how, did you forgive me, John - it’s been two years since I’ve been back, and I still can’t manage to forgive myself.” He slipped the robe around himself and knotted the belt before he flopped onto the couch and curled into a ball.

John snorted, considered plugging in the kettle for a brief moment, then walked over to the couch and sat down heavily. “Why? Because I needed to. Because I thought, I thought you weren’t coming back - and I needed to forgive you, because everyone deserves that, well, most people do, and you deserved, _deserve_ it, and I loved, I _love_ you. And if you dare ask me why I love you, I swear -”

Sherlock shifted on the couch until he was settled in John’s lap, then sighed and closed his eyes as John laid his fingers in his hair. “Sorry, my hair is -”

“Filthy, yeah, I’ll wash it for you later, shall I?”

“Please. I am so sorry, John. Not for - well, for that too, of course, but for tonight. I was being selfish, sometimes I get lost, but you do know, don’t you, that I’ll always come home. You know that? Right?” He rolled until he could look into John’s eyes.

“Yeah, I do know. I do.” He grimaced as he tried to tuck a single curl behind Sherlock’s ear. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?”


	21. Tough

The screech of the violin alerted him to the fact that it was going to be a tough day even before he gave up and decided to open his eyes. For a fleeting moment he had considered pulling the sheet over his head and rolling over, hoping against hope that the noise would end, but experience told him there was no point.

He picked up his phone, and rolled his eyes at the time - 5:43 in the morning. He knew this meant several things. _One,_ Mrs Hudson was not presently in her flat. _Two,_ he had solved the case from the previous night, and had not yet found another, and _three,_ it was a very good thing he loved the person making the screech down below more than life itself. Otherwise… otherwise, he muttered to himself as he stomped down the stairs in search of tea. Otherwise.

“Sorry. It’s just -”

“Yeah. I know, you are bored already.”

“Well, that and -”

“And?”

“I missed you.”

John snorted as he strode to the window, removed first the bow, then the violin from Sherlock’s hands, and after he carefully put them away, kissed the hands that drove him to distraction on a daily basis. “You do realize there are kinder ways to let a person know they are missed.”

Sherlock blinked at him for a moment, then mumbled sheepishly, “I do, it just seemed the most expedient thing to do at the time. Won’t happen again.”

“Thank you, now as to your boredom, I think I might be able to help with that.”


	22. Fetid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fetid: smelling extremely unpleasant

He was accustomed to all manners of odours, usually of the fetid variety, but even he coughed as he drew in a breath and covered his nose and mouth with his scarf. He held up his free hand to try to stop John from entering the room but was too late.

“Bloody hell,” John muttered, nearly going to his knees before Sherlock caught his arm, and helped him back up the stairs, leaving the crime scene to those with stronger stomachs. “Sorry.”

Sherlock shook his head as he removed the scarf from his face, and closed his eyes as he took in a gulp of fresh London air, and let it out again slowly. “I think we need some tea, hmm?”

“What about the case?” John asked after he caught his breath.

“We are fortunate, or unfortunate as the case may be, people are nothing but predictable, John. There will always be another case. It’s tea for us, come.”


	23. Bossy

“Come on, up you get.”

“Nope.”

“Sherlock.” John put on what Sherlock called his ‘bossy’ face, and crossed his arms at him, for what little good it did as the curtains were closed and the lights switched off in the bedroom.

“Leave me ‘lone.”

“Anyone could have -”

“I’m not ‘anyone,’ John. It’s my job. I’m supposed to be brilliant, remember? What good am I if I miss the simplest of things -”

“You are a specialist -” John began carefully, as he toed off his shoes and slipped under the covers and ruffled the dark curls that were in desperate need of a good wash and detangling.

“But Anderson, John. It’s bad enough when you know things -”

“No offense taken.”

“Anderson knew something I should have known -”

“Sherlock. Listen to yourself, there’s no reason you should have been able to guess that knowing football scores from the 1960s would be needed for a case some forty years later. You don’t even -”

Sherlock rolled over and glared at him before growling out - “if you dare mention the solar system, I swear -”

“Would I do that?” John asked innocently before stopping any further grumbling with a kiss.


	24. Inappropriate

“Hmmm?” John asked without looking up from the paper.

“What? I didn’t say anything -”

“No, but I know what you’re thinking.”

“How? I mean -” Sherlock blushed at the inappropriate thought that had just passed through his mind, and tried to focus on the case he had been working on the last few days with no end in sight, then rolled his eyes as he realized he had just given the game away. 

“You may know ash, but I can tell when someone is interested, you know.”

“I was just thinking about - well, I was thinking -”

John glanced up at him, then put the paper aside and grinned at him. “I think sometimes the problem is that you think entirely too much, when all you need to do is ask. What’s the worst that could happen?” He asked, with a smile that told Sherlock everything he ever needed to know.


	25. Celebratory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of the first airing of 'A Study in Pink' on July 25, 2010. We across the pond had to wait a few more months, to be forever changed...

“Morning, well, afternoon, I suppose it is now.”

“Already?”

“Hmm.”

Sherlock rolled away from him, then opened the bedside table drawer, and pulled out a box.

“What is this?” John asked quietly as Sherlock looked slightly nervous as he opened the box and showed him a ring.

“I know - I mean, I always said I was -”

“’Married to the Work.’”

“Yes, well, I think you must know, I hope you know, that for the last ten years - we’ve, you’ve, that is, I’ve - always been afraid to ask, maybe it’s too late, and I’m just -”

“Yes.”

“Yes. Do you truly - I mean, you want to marry me, John Watson?”

“Yes, you idiot, yes, of course I do.”

“It’s that simple, is it?”

“No, of course not, we are who we are, there’s nothing simple about it. Except that I’ve always - well - you know.”

Sherlock’s eyes flashed back at him and nodded, before kissing away any words that might get too mawkish or heaven forbid, sentimental.


	26. Brave

“There is a fine line between stupidity and -” he grumbled as he half carried John up the seventeen steps to the flat.

“I swear if you say brave, I will knock you on your lovely arse.”

“Ah, there you are,” Sherlock grunted out as he settled John on the couch, then carefully removed his muddy boots, and kissed his hair before he went into the kitchen to plug in the kettle.


	27. Timely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny bit of Mystrade

“What day is it?” He asked, even before he opened his eyes.

“Monday, but we’re not worrying about what day it is, hmm? For once, someone else gets to worry about that, yeah?”

“Apologies, I am rather accustomed to living my life -”

“In a timely manner?” Lestrade asked with a grin, as he leaned in closer to kiss him good morning.


	28. Tasty

They usually ordered take away, or Mrs Hudson would leave them a cold supper in spite of her grumbling, but every once in a while, after a bad day, or a case that wasn’t as simple as it looked, John would cook. He wasn’t a gourmet chef by any stretch of anyone’s imagination, but the first time he placed a bowl of what would come to be known as ‘the thing with peas’ into Sherlock’s hands, he had to smile as Sherlock actually sat down and ate without complaint.

“John.”

“Hmm?”

“That’s actually quite tasty - don’t think I’ve ever really tasted anything before. I’ve always eaten for the sake of the transport, not out of enjoyment, outside of biscuits, of course, but then one gets quite used to things - it’s rare to be surprised. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Does it have a name?”

John laughed and shook his head. “My mum used to call it ‘wonder food’ because-”

“She would take the edible leftovers from the fridge, toss it in a pot and we would-”

“-wonder what was in it. Yeah. She would always have a bag of peas in the fridge, for emergencies and to add a bit of colour to the leftovers.”

“Well, it’s brilliant.”

“Another bowl?”

“Yes, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wonder food" was my mom's version of the 'thing with peas' which usually included peas. ;)


	29. Terrible

He sat back in his chair and squinted at the words he had managed to type out, then glanced over at Sherlock who was glaring at the ceiling. 

“You should try to get some sleep.”

“ _You_ try to sleep in this terrible bed. We should have just gone home, I’m fine.”

John huffed and rolled his eyes at him, but knew better than to remind Sherlock of the reasons he was in hospital instead of back at Baker Street.

“Sorry.”

John blinked at him then asked quietly, “What did you say?”

“You heard what I said, not going to say it again. Now, will you, _please,_ turn off that bloody computer and get in bed with me?”

John published his latest blog entry, then closed his laptop. “An apology _and_ a please - now I am quite certain you have concussion. Scootch over a bit, hmm?”


	30. Good

“Why?”

“Why what?” Sherlock asked as he stomped onto the the coffee table in order to examine the evidence again, hoping to find something he had missed.

“The Work - you could be anything with your brain and work ethic, is it do with good versus evil?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You should know better than to think I believe in such simplistic absolutes - people are complicated, well, some people are more complicated than others, you for one. Wait. There it is - how on earth did I miss that?” He stepped down from the table and perched on the chair across from John, then shrugged at him, before continuing on.

“People are the great puzzle, John. You yourself have catalogued what you consider to be my more interesting qualities for the general public’s consumption, though you know more than most that I’m no angel. There are moments when I have wondered what kind of criminal I would have made in a different time, back in the time of pirates - I mean those who sailed the seven seas, of course -” He got up and walked over to the window, then stared down at Baker Street with a sigh. “Unfortunately - it would never have worked.”

“Why is that?” John asked.

“Don’t have the stomach for it, sea travel has never agreed with me.”


	31. Great

“Great,” he groaned out, then opened his eyes find Sherlock watching him from the chair next to the bed, a slightly worried look in his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I have to go to work.”

“No. You don’t.”

“Sherlock -”

“John. Some days you have to stop, and let someone take care of you.”

John raised an eyebrow at him and asked quietly, “That someone is you?”

“If you’ll let me.”

“I don’t -”

“I know, you think I’m not capable of -”

“No. It’s not you. It’s just I’m not used to letting other people see me -”

“As human? You are human, John.”

“It’s easier to pretend that I’m -”

“Indestructible?” Sherlock asked with a grin.

“Something like that.”

“Today, you will stay in bed as long as you want, and then I’m going to make some proper tea, put on some crap telly -”

“Sherlock. You don’t have to -”

“Yes, yes, I do, because it’s what people do, isn’t it?”

John stared at him in confusion.

“Don’t be an idiot, John. What I’m trying to tell you is -”

“I love you, too.”

“You do.”

“Who’s the idiot now?”


End file.
